


Inevitable

by Miri1984



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Mild Angst, Oral Sex, Post 177, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:21:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27796852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miri1984/pseuds/Miri1984
Summary: Post 177 Zolf and Wilde have sex and feelings.
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 15
Kudos: 97





	Inevitable

It should be familiar and easy between them. They have seen each other naked so often, in the course of quarantine, on the road, when Oscar or Zolf needed medical attention. Bodies are just bodies, in the end, aren’t they? There’s nothing inherently erotic about skin or muscle or hands or shoulders, not when you have a job, not when knowledge of that skin or those shoulders is what keeps you from infection.

And yet.

Oscar knows every single one of Zolf’s tattoos, he can close his eyes and map them in his mind, has done so on more than one occasion - on oh so many occasions, lying in bed, hard and aching and imagining how they might feel under his hands, his lips, how the play of skin across muscle would give slightly as he passed his fingers over the dark ink of their lines.

He wonders if Zolf knows the contours of Oscar’s body the same way. He knows that Zolf doesn’t feel what is between them the same way, but there is a possessiveness in Zolf’s eyes that Oscar can admit to himself has been there for some time, hidden in sideways glances and almost said words. 

Now it’s out in the open, and Zolf watches Oscar unbutton his shirt, naked hunger writ plain across his features, a desperation, an acknowledgement of the _need_ that they have finally found the words to express.

“How long,” Oscar says, teasingly as he undoes another button, “have you wanted this?”

“You’re going to waste time with questions, now?” Zolf says. 

“We could have talked for longer, if you’d only stayed and had another drink with me. Perhaps we could have gotten all this pesky conversation out of the way before I’d even come back to the land of the living, then we could spend _all_ our time f…”

Zolf reaches up and undoes the next three buttons while Oscar is still on his second. “I told you,” he says, voice deep and growly and sending shivers up and down Oscar’s spine. “Didn’t want to spend time with a version of you that wasn’t real. Goin’ on about _uni_ and deadlines and did people really cheat off you?”

“Off me, with me…”

“Are you done talking yet?”

“Never,” Oscar says as Zolf reaches up to push his shirt off his shoulders. It’s cold in their room, nothing like the biting cold of the arena where he had woken, his head in Zolf’s lap, Zolf’s face pale with worry and Zolf’s fingers in his now snow white hair.

He kneels down and allows Zolf to kiss him, Zolf’s hands wide and strong in his hair, Zolf’s mouth warm and wonderful against his. It goes on for a good long while, neither of them willing to part more than a centimetre away from each other, small gasps and soft moans the only sound in the room. When finally they do pull apart enough for Oscar to lean his forehead against Zolf’s, feeling Zolf’s hands smooth up and down the planes of his back, both of them are breathing hard.

“You didn’t answer the question,” Oscar says, leaning down to mouth at the delicate skin behind Zolf’s ear. 

“Don’t remember what it was,” Zolf says, and Oscar cannot help but let out a laugh at that, a laugh that turns into a gasp as one of Zolf’s calloused fingers finds a nipple and twists. 

“When did it start, for you,” Oscar says, moving to take Zolf’s shirt off with a little more alacrity than his own had been removed, “when did you think to yourself, _this one,_ this is the man that I love and adore beyond measure, the light of my life, the…”

Zolf pulls back and drops his trousers, hand tangling in Oscar’s hair with quite delightful force. “There are so many better things you could be doing with your mouth right now, Oscar,” he says, stepping out of his trousers and kicking them to the side, and Oscar draws in a delighted breath. Zolf pulls him backwards towards the bed and Oscar kisses a line down the trident tattoo on Zolf’s chest, over the tentacles of the giant squid, down towards his prick, flushed and thick and glorious with _need,_ need for Oscar, for his mouth, his tongue, his throat. He cups it in one hand, gives it a long, firm stroke, and then licks a line up it, teasing the head and using one hand to pump down it’s length. Zolf lets out a groan, gratifying in its volume, and his hand tightens in Oscar’s hair.

Oscar swallows around Zolf’s prick, humming his satisfaction, reveling in the way Zolf uses the hand in his hair to control his pace. Oscar relaxes into it, losing himself to the joy of pleasing Zolf, of pulling noises from him he had dreamed of for months, small, needy moans turning into more harsh grunts and cries as Zolf gets close. He reaches up, grasping for Zolf’s free hand and thrills as Zolf laces their fingers together, hips lifting off the bed as he cries out his climax, and Oscar swallows him down greedily, gratefully, his heart as full as his mouth, his senses full of Zolf, and only Zolf, his mind peaceful the only way it has managed to be in the past months.

Zolf is gentle when he brings him up beside him on the bed, gentle as he wraps his fingers around Oscar’s prick. 

“You want to know when it happened for me?” Zolf whispers in his ear, half covering Oscar with his body, one hand busy between them, Oscar tipping his head back and exposing his throat to Zolf’s lips. 

“Yes,” Oscar gasps.

“I would have fucked you,” Zolf says, working his wrist so beautifully that Oscar could weep, “that first time in Hamid’s apartment, I would have shown you that I was better at this than Bertie…”

“Gods, yes… you _are_ Zolf more… just there, right _now…”_

“I would have taken you on the floor in la Triumph and you would have _begged_ me to stop before you came apart in front of everyone…”

“I wanted… I needed…”

Zolf buries his face in Oscar’s neck and sucks a bruise into the delicate skin there as he moves his hand again, just like that, just so, just where Oscar could weep, but he doesn’t, he just comes, hips bucking and voice cracking and heart exposed.

It’s so intense that Oscar can do nothing, for a few moments, except lie there and bask in his filth. Eventually, though, Zolf moves his (somewhat sticky) hand way from Oscar’s prick, moves up so he is nestled in at Oscar’s armpit, breath coming more evenly.

“It’s not where it started, though, is it?” Oscar asks, finally. Because Zolf is good at what he does. He’s good at healing. He’s good at taking someone apart with his glaive or with his hands. And, the past eighteen months have proved without a doubt, he is good at lying, to himself and others.

“No,” Zolf says. Honest, when it counts.

“Do you want to tell me when?”

“Do you want to tell _me?”_

Oscar laughs. “I fell in love with you the moment you headbutted me in the face, Zolf Smith.”

It’s not _exactly_ a lie.

“This is why no one is ever honest with you,” Zolf says, mildly enough. 

Oscar brings up a hand to tilt Zolf’s face towards his own. Zolf’s expression is fond, but skeptical. “I’ve never lied to you,” Oscar says.

“But you’ve _never_ been honest,” Zolf counters, and Oscar cannot dispute that, and he smiles, and he kisses each of Zolf’s eyelids, and he sighs against Zolf’s forehead.

“I fell in love with you when you headbutted me,” Oscar says into the darkness, as he feels Zolf’s breathing even out, the tension and exertion settling after their lovemaking. “I fell in love with you in Paris, when you drenched me in water, when you told me I was an idiot in an alleyway, when you asked Earhart if there was any way she could ignore how much she hated me. I fell in love with you when I found you when I thought I’d lost everyone, when I realised you wanted the same things as I did, when I realised I finally had someone I knew wanted to save the world as much as I. I fell in love with you every time you left and I knew I wouldn’t know it was you when you came back, when we grieved for Sasha and Hamid, when we found them again, and when we knew nothing could ever be the same.” Oscar takes a deep breath. “I fell in love with you when you came for me after I had died, and you told me you needed me, and I fell in love with you yesterday, when I woke up and you were here with me, and I knew you were not going to leave, and I’m in love with you now, right here, in my bed, and I cannot imagine not falling in love with you again in different ways every day to the day I die.”

Zolf tenses in his arms, then, slowly, relaxes. Oscar feels him drag his face back and forth a little over Oscar’s chest, the kind of gesture a cat would make, affectionate, thoughtful. 

“Gods,” Zolf says eventually. “You’re so fucking _intense,_ sometimes.”

Oscar would, at one point, have been worried about that. “Yes,” he says. “Not just sometimes.”

Zolf lets out a sigh. “I’m sorry I can’t do big poetry about it,” Zolf says. “I just. Knew I loved you. It was a thing, I woke up one day and it was there. It was after we met up again, yeah, but I can’t place the day, or the look. It just. Was a thing.”

“No grand gesture, no sudden realisation?”

Zolf kisses Oscar’s bicep and shakes his head. “You were just you. All the time and right there. I guess it was inevitable.”

Oscar kisses Zolf’s head, and laces his fingers with Zolf’s and thinks there has never been a time he has been more happy.

“Inevitable,” he says, and it sounds right and proper and finished.


End file.
